by Kiki Howell
Bronwyn didn’t hear the man approaching.
“Ma’am, are you, all right?”
The southern accent that accompanied those words held concern and curiosity.
Spinning around to see who the voice belonged to, Bronwyn turned to see a tall, sturdy, muscular, young guy with the boy next door looks approaching her. The dark SUV with tinted windows behind him had the driver’s door open.
Nodding to the idling vehicle, she wanted to make sure he didn’t suffer a similar fate as her for being a Good Samaritan. “Hey, you ought to move your car. Can’t you see it’s Demolition Derby out here today?”
“Nah, it’ll be okay. The boss won’t let anyone get away with hitting it.”
He moved fast, making it to the back doors of her van in seconds. Giving her another harmless once over, he nodded as if convinced she was all right.
“I saw what happened but couldn’t get the license plate numbers. That truck looks like a million others that come through here. Sorry, but seems like he tore you up good.”
Bronwyn felt eyes on her that weren’t this fella’s. She looked around, settling on the running SUV. It sat less than twenty feet away on another aisle of parking spots. The windows and interior were dark, but she could swear someone in it watched her—hard—from within.
Shaking off the intense feeling of being sized up, she forced her attention back to the kind young man. “Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get that fixed or opened anytime soon. Thankfully, he didn’t manage to get the side sliding door.”
“Yeah, but I wonder if I can get the doors to release so you can still use them?”
She didn’t want him fiddling around with her baby. This van had been on its last leg for a while but seemed to know how much she needed it to work for her. It was sensitive and Bronwyn wasn’t sure how it would respond to another person putting hands on it. She took in breath preparing to protest but was too late. With a few pulls, the guy was able to wrench one of the doors free to open the back.
“Whelp looks like you’re going to need to get that fixed.” He looked at the warped locking mechanism in the width of the door. “Yep, it’s busted. I don’t think you’ll be able to get it to close properly again.”
“You don’t say?” Her sarcasm dripped with acid as Bronwyn eyed the door that looked more like a shot goose, limp and laying bare and open. How was she going to keep all her materials from falling out the back as she drove around? Deciding to cut her losses while she still could, it was time to treat him like a client to get the guy gone. “Thank you so much!” Maybe her tone was too bright to pass as sincere, but she wanted the man to feel rewarded for his heroics and get the hell on. Now, not only did she have to get the dents out of the back doors, it looked like with all his pulling, the latch to close the door was stripped too.
Great, men and their need to feel macho. Lord deliver her from the sort. Then on second thought, she took it back. This was the type of man her company was geared toward. Regrouping to salvage a potential client, Bronwyn, went to the driver’s side and got a card from her console. Handing the card to the guy, she took pleasure in seeing his confusion.
“What’s this?” He eyed the card and started to read.
“It’s my way of saying thank you. I’m a personal concierge for single guys.”
“What? I don’t think I’m into that sort of thing.”
“Haha, no not an escort. I’m like a life manager for the guy who’s too busy running his business to focus on the mundane like, let’s say, feeding himself, having his clothes picked up from the cleaners, running errands, finding and keeping a housekeeper? You know, stuff like that.”
The guy nodded, mouth slightly open as if still in a haze of confusion. Seeing this was not a prospect, Bronwyn had to redeem the time and get these materials over to her client’s house before nightfall.
“I think I might know some guys who would need this. I’m good—I live behind one of my friends and his wife in the backyard in a tiny house I built myself.”
“That’s great!” Again, with the too cheery response, she had to tone it down, but get him moving. Bronwyn’s mind already buzzed with how she could go back inside and buy some strong zip ties to hold the door closed enough to get her to Ollie’s place.
Her would-be hero smiled and put the card in his jean’s pocket. Stretching out a hand, he smiled again. “Thanks for the card, Bronwyn. My name’s Danny. I’ll be sure to let some dudes I know in on what you do. It’s cool, and they need the help.”
“Thanks. Make sure they can afford me. This is a business and not a charity.” She tried to float that one with a laugh, but she was dead serious. No busted, broke, jerks allowed.
Bronwyn had a code she lived by. She didn’t raise or take care of anything she didn’t birth, and she was a reluctant virgin. As a proud business owner and woman, that was one of the first lessons she’d learned. Don’t work for guys trying to turn her into their mother. They were usually too demanding and not willing to pay for her services. No thank you. It didn’t matter how much they needed her help; she wouldn’t budge. That didn’t pay her grown up bills that marched in every month like clockwork.
Her attention drifted back to the black SUV off in the short distance. Again, the sensation of someone watching her was hard to shake. Instead of turning around and walking over to the car to see who was eyeing her down from inside, she offered Danny a smile and returned his handshake.
With the pleasantries done, she turned to walk back to the driver’s side door. Thankfully, the guy took the hint and started back on his way as well. When she was behind the wheel, Bronwyn took a moment to reset. Her nerves were on the verge of derailing.
“Think, Bron, you got this.”
She waited until the black SUV turned out of the parking lot and was on its way back into late afternoon traffic. Jumping out the car again, she had to make this quick. There were only about ninety minutes left for her to make it through traffic, drop off these materials before the work crew left and got paid for the errand.
With the zip ties holding the door in place, Bronwyn left the parking lot, driving slow like a stuffed Sunday Church driver on the way home from the local buffet. A few turns that had her clawing the steering wheel and she were at her client’s home with twenty minutes to spare.
Chapter Two
BRONWYN
“Yeah, I’ll take it. Thanks for looking out.” Bronwyn took the post-it note from Ollie and absently put the contact information into her phone before handing the bright yellow paper back to him. “Coming from you, I’m sure the guy’s all right.”
“He’s a friend of a friend, but from what I hear he can well afford you.”
“You know me well.”
“No, you trained me well,” Ollie corrected. “There’s no way I’m messing up my goodwill bank with you.”
Ollie Dresden was one of Bronwyn’s inaugural clients.
To get her business off the ground, Bronwyn had used her sense of hustle to find her customers in their natural habitat. She’d hung out, no more like stalked, the equipment counter at the largest Do-It-Yourself home improvement centers looking for her prey—ahem clients. Noticing he had the right mix of confusion and frustration with a dash of desperation, Bronwyn had swooped in to offer her services. Ollie had taken a chance and hired her without hesitation. For that, she’d be always thankful. Almost a year into her business and here she was still providing him with personal concierge services that he gladly used and paid timely for.
Ollie looked at the stacks of lumber and building supplies in his backyard storage unit. “Bronwyn, without you, there’s no way I could have gotten all these materials here on a weekday before the guys left. Thanks for another great job—and for dinner too!”
The smile that stretched her facial muscles must have looked goofy because she always got this way when her guys gushed over her hard work. His compliment almost made her forget the hit and run her work van had sustained running his errand. S
he wouldn’t let on how hard it had been getting the materials here with her newly busted back doors. Visions too many to count of how his lumber could have been splayed out on the highway still haunted her.
Shaking the thought, she kept it light. Ollie was a jovial sort. She wouldn’t dampen the mood with her issues. The cost of doing business should stay behind the scenes. He was a client and as far as he’d ever know everything was great.
“Yeah, well no one told you to buy that little pimple of a car.”
“Hey, no ragging on my car baby. She’s excellent on gas, and I can always make a parking space downtown.”
“That car is cute and all, but useless for this expansion project you’ve got going on.” Then thinking better of her argument, Bronwyn changed the course of her words. “On second thought, you keep driving that ladybug of a car and paying me to pick up stuff for your project.”
“And don’t forget dinner too.”
“Nope, can’t forget dinner either.”
“You always know the best places for take-out. That alone should be a super power. Don’t ever leave me, Bron,” Ollie said, cupping his hands over his heart to mimic his beating heart. “I’d starve without you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Your girl wouldn’t allow it.”
“Hah, her idea of seasoning is salt and pepper.”
“Still don’t have the heart to tell her, do you?”
“Nah, she’s beautiful and loves me right, but the woman can’t cook to save her cat’s life.”
Bronwyn laughed, enjoying how relaxed he was around her. Over the last year, she’d been able to find a nice balance between business and client relationship with him. It was comfortable working with him. She could see herself cloning him, but doubling what she charged the clones. Done with the job and the need to get a move on, Ollie sensed her need to leave. He led them back into the house through the back porch. This area would be an extended sunroom and study in a few months. When he walked her to the front door, as was the southern manners way, he said pointing at her phone, “Don’t forget to call that guy. My friend said he’d be an easy client to acquire and use your services.”
“Thanks, Ollie. Appreciate you looking out for me.”
“Yeah, I have to. You’re the only woman Jenny will allow around me without her.”
That was another thing that helped sell her services. Bronwyn was a non-threatening, average looking, full-figured, black girl who ran errands. She moved around these men with a cloak of invisibility and air of the maternal they longed for. The girlfriends saw her as the non-threatening personal assistant, as some of them had called her. She couldn’t care less about what they called her as long as their men paid on time and used her services on a regular basis.
Bronwyn’s mantra and daily intention were to own the designation of the best personal concierge for single guys in Atlanta. She’d found her calling, and it suited her well. Being incognito was the way she liked to go about her business. The last thing she wanted or needed was to have a reputation of causing strife with the girlfriends, or in a few cases, the boyfriends.
Deciding to take her natural ability to provide excellent service that she’d honed during her time working at the airport, Bronwyn had managed to turn those skills into dollar bills. Taking another tip from her time there, she’d realized the best group to focus on was the often-perplexed single guys she’d helped. It was like being the kindly, doting sister to a lot of them.
As a personal concierge to this group, the bonus was that she was never a threat to any of their girlfriends. Best described as pudgy with nothing striking or stand out about her, Bronwyn was so far from these types of guy’s tastes that any advances from them would be laughable. So far, her clientele was affluent or darn near close to it, with drives and ambitions that left little time to pay attention to her except to use her services.
Even though she was making it up as she went, Bronwyn learned quickly to meet the significant other. After meeting Bronwyn and assuring herself that she was way hotter than the personal concierge, Bronwyn was given the golden nod of approval by the girlfriend. If nothing else zinged her gut, Bronwyn would take on the client.
After doing this for the first nine guys, Bronwyn had learned to appreciate having a significant other in the mix. The guys never got confused about her role, and she did her job with ease of unwanted advances. Each girlfriend proved how much she didn’t see Bronwyn as a problem by the lack of fuss or grief the guys got about Bronwyn’s almost all-access pass to his life. That didn’t diminish the overbearing antics of some of them. On a few occasions, Bronwyn had to remind some that she worked for their man and not them.
Plus, she got comfortable with confrontation fast. Some of the little heifers had gotten it twisted, trying to boss her around and tell her how to do her job. Until she swiped a credit card belonging to that chick, there was no way Bronwyn was going to be bossed around by any girlfriends either.
Thinking of overbearing girlfriends, Bronwyn remembered she needed to stop by another client’s home to make sure the house rental group of girls from this last weekend hadn’t left anything behind. With that burning a hole in her to do list, she made quick goodbyes and left.
Chapter Three
BRONWYN
At the spacious Buckhead mansion of one of the most eligible athlete bachelors in town, Bronwyn made it back to the front entryway. Ever the businessman with innovative hustle, he rented out his in-town home to the affluent parties while he chilled out at his primary home north of the city where most of the athletes resided. Among other things he could come up with, her job was to make sure his place in Atlanta always looked like he lived there. His current girlfriend only knew about this home, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Truth be told, she thought Scott purposefully had her deal with his girlfriend before he saw her. He might be fine as hell but must be a wuss for how little he dealt with things when it came to his International model girlfriend from one of those cold and austere countries.
A sweep of the house confirmed it. Like she’d thought, the little brats hadn’t left the place as clean as their lease agreement stated. The housekeeper wouldn’t be by until the end of the week. That left her to straighten up before the girlfriend touched down late tomorrow.
Times like these were when Bronwyn kicked herself for not charging for special circumstances. Sure, he paid well and on time, but Scott’s requirements always pushed the boundaries of what she’d intended to provide. Bronwyn was nobody’s housekeeper, and she didn’t do girlfriend babysitting, both of which seemed to be creeping in on what she’d do for Scott.
Part of her marketing to these guys was a no fuss comprehensive pricing plan. A pricing plan that needed to go up exponentially with how much more the guys were requiring. Scott was top of the list with his requests. His fee needed to quadruple.
Once again Bronwyn pushed back thoughts of how she needed to get the money to fix the van and get other materials to make it through the rest of the month. It made no sense that she was scrimping and scraping to make it when she had these many clients. Yep, her introductory pricing had to change immediately. With a little more gumption, she was going to have to talk with Scott about increasing his monthly fee. He’d pay it, probably without hesitation, but that still didn’t mean she wanted to have the talk. Her top paying client, Scott, was different. There was something about him that kept her unable to have a money talk or tell him no on any request. The niggling thought in the back of her mind was that she didn’t want to have to talk with Scott about anything that he didn’t instigate. As her wealthiest account so far, Bronwyn needed him to stay as one of her clients and refer more like him—she hoped. If Bronwyn took enough time to think about it, she’d have to admit that he wasn’t her client, at least not in the long run. With a sigh and determination to shake off that nagging thought, she finished up.
Done with a quick walk through and tidy up of Scott’s place—yes one of the girls had left behind a bra behind
one of the beds—Bronwyn left a note and invoice for him to pay. This was another thing only he got away with—invoicing. She did the most for him and one other guy, besides Ollie. Hate to admit it, but Scott was one of her crushes. He had the looks and dangerous vibe of a bad boy, the body of an athlete and the charm of a Casanova. The fact that he was a star baseball player for the home team didn’t hurt either.
Leaving the requisite foyer lights and perimeter lighting on, she keyed in the admin code and allowed the biometric meter to scan her eyeball. Just another part of her service, Bronwyn provided for her guys. In today’s world where celebrities were top of the list for burglaries, she didn’t mind the extra precaution Scott had her take. With the alarm set, she left, tired but satisfied.
Back in the van and the adrenaline of her day dissipating, soreness with the beginnings of what would be stiffness tomorrow sprawled across her chest and into her shoulders. A trip to an Urgent Care facility for x-rays was out of the question due to time and more importantly money. Pain radiated along the phantom outline of the steering wheel from that earlier hit and run. For as hard as she worked, Bronwyn had undersold her services. She was super busy but not super paid. For the amount of time, gas, innovative ways to deal with metro Atlanta traffic to get anywhere on time, all while providing excellent customer service, client acquisition, and retention, she was always running on fumes. Rubbing the sorest part of her chest, Bronwyn said a prayer nothing was broken or cracked and kept it moving.
This business was her first. Her underestimation of what it took to run, profit and grow was a learning curve she was managing as if her head were stuck in the lion’s mouth with him about to clamp down. The stress and financial strain added to the stack of mounting reasons why she was determined to get bolder with her pricing.
